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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26972938">Nothing Ever Hurts Again</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/athena_crikey/pseuds/athena_crikey'>athena_crikey</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Labyrinth (1986)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>F/M, Future Fic, Shades of Chappaquiddick, h/c, rescued to Underground, snarky dynamics</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-10-12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-11-16</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 21:08:25</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>11,387</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26972938</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/athena_crikey/pseuds/athena_crikey</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Even dull as her mind is, weighed down with pain and cold and the closeness of death, she can hear the lies in his words. “You will heal me if I allow, you mean,” she grits out. “I still have power here.”</p>
<p>A soft, frustrated breath. “Yes,” he agrees. “You still have power. The power to thwart me, the power to bury yourself. Is that what you wish, Sarah?”</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Jareth/Sarah Williams</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>40</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>89</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Water</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>History has no beginnings, but stories do. Sarah’s story begins not on the morning of her birth, nor on the day of her parents’ divorce, nor on the day of her father’s remarrying. It does not begin with the birth of her half-brother, or on any of the nights she cries herself to sleep. </p><p>It begins with a wish. </p><p>But that was years ago. As a girl she defeated the Labyrinth and its King, her will as great as his. As a young woman she left home for college, leaving behind her fairy-tale room with its toys and bright colours. She didn’t look back. </p><p>Her dreams, though, don’t forget. Asleep she walks on dead grass beneath thirsty red skies and smells wild peaches ripening in the sun and hears him singing. Jareth, the Goblin King. She never sees him but she can sense his presence, his watchful gaze, feels it like a thunderstorm about to break raising the hairs on her skin. </p><p>Sometimes she wonders if she will ever truly escape the Labyrinth, ever forget its lord and master. </p><p>Sometimes, less often, she wonders if she really wants to.</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p><br/>
***</p>
</div>It’s late. After midnight, the crescent moon hanging in the sky, its sharp sickle casting hardly any light. That doesn’t bother her; her head’s spinning lightly, her sight losing focus around the edges. The clock on the dash reads 1:32 in glowing green; green, the colour of poison, of evil, of witchery. She groans and digs her knuckles into her eyes. She shouldn’t have drunk so much.<p>Beside her Eric is handily manoeuvering the car down the long stretch of road that leads to the lake; they’re almost back at college. The car seems to be swerving over the centre line, but that’s probably just her dizzy head; Eric promised he only had the one beer. </p><p>They should have stayed the night with the rest of the party, which was still in full swing when she collared Eric and made him drive her home. But she has an early meeting tomorrow with her thesis advisor; she can’t be late. </p><p>Up ahead lights suddenly appear, shining like the sun, brilliant and blinding. Sarah winces and looks away. Eric curses and the car swerves once, twice like a skier slaloming on an icy slope. They hit something, the bottom of the car grinding – the sound of metal against cement. Fear cuts through the dull drunkenness and she looks up to see water in the headlights.</p><p>She doesn’t feel the impact. What she notices first is the coldness. She looks up, neck sore, body aching and in the near-darkness the car’s interior lights suddenly come on. Eric has worked his door open and is getting out, even as black water floods into the Taurus. It races in hungrily as the car slips further and further beneath the surface. </p><p>Panic surges in her, hot and searing, and she frees her seatbelt only to find that her legs won’t move. She looks down and in the moment before the water covers them sees mangled metal and red, bloody flesh, sees rent skin and white bone. </p><p>This is a dream. This isn’t happening. She’s going to wake up, has to wake up. <i>Wake up!</i></p><p>But even as she fights with the door handle, she knows it’s not. Her dreams are arid, dusty things full of music and magic and the feeling of static electricity over her skin.  </p><p>The water rises above her waist, her ribs, her throat, cold as death. Sarah screams and pounds at the door, tilting her head back to suck in the rapidly disappearing air. This is the end, is death, is eternal blackness and she will never see him again. </p><p>The water fills the car, the last of the air disappearing, and her life is now limited to the length of her last breath. She’s crying, she thinks, hot salty tears mixing with the frigid lake water. <i>Mom – Dad – Toby… </i></p><p>
  <i>Jareth!</i>
</p><p>Her air runs out just as she feels a soft touch on the back of her shoulder. </p><p>She is falling, falling, into darkness, into death, this is it…</p><p>Blackness turns to grey, turns slowly into white. She takes a breath, shocked, confused, then another. Was it a dream? Just a regular nightmare? But she can feel cold wetness, her clothes stuck to her body, her hair heavy and soaked. She’s cold, so cold, frozen stiff. </p><p>“Sarah?”</p><p>Sarah opens her eyes. </p><p>She has no way of telling whether Jareth looks the same as he had those five years ago in the Labyrinth, because he too is soaked, his bright, elaborately feathered hair lying flat and pale against his skull. His eyes are the same mismatched colour though, emphasized by glitter dust that hasn’t been washed away. She feels the solid firmness of his shoulder beneath her head, and his arms beneath her, holding her up off the floor. He’s strong, unshaking, unaffected by her weight. His eyes are difficult to read, are shadowed by the angle of his head. </p><p>Everything seems to be spinning and she doesn’t know if it’s the alcohol or the shock or some facet of this dream/not dream that she’s suddenly in. She shifts and suddenly pain cuts in through the cold, searing agony slicing up through her legs. She stiffens and whimpers, looking down at her dangling legs. They’re a dripping, bloody mess. A strangled, scared sound slips from her throat. She knows, <i>knows</i> that she can’t show fear here, can’t let Jareth have the upper hand. But it <i>hurts. </i></p><p>Jareth’s face seems to be cast from stone, his thin mouth a long tight line, his eyes glinting with… pain?  Regret? She can’t read it, can’t read him, she is nothing but coldness and pain. She closes her eyes and turns away from him. </p><p>“You should sleep, Sarah,” he says, and she can hear the power in his voice, the magic settling on her soft as snow. Her eyes slip open just a sliver, the force of her will – the will that led her through the Labyrinth the first time, that allowed her to beat this forceful, fickle king – flickering briefly inside her breast. The words are familiar on her lips. </p><p>“You have no –”</p><p>“No.” His arms grasp her, strong fingers digging into her frigid flesh. He was never rough with her before, not even at his most petty, his most fierce. She feels the heat of his anger now – or is it fear? “Do not oppose me in this. This is no longer a game. This is your life.”</p><p>“It was never a game,” she whispers, her heartbeat throbbing in her ears. </p><p>“I brought your brother here out of obligation. I bring you out of charity. I will heal you, if you behave. If not, you will die here on my soil and no one will weep for you.” His voice is rough, hard, like pumice-stone over skin. </p><p>Even dull as her mind is, weighed down with pain and cold and the closeness of death, she can hear the lies in his words. “You will heal me if I allow, you mean,” she grits out. “I still have power here.”</p><p>A soft, frustrated breath. “Yes,” he agrees. “You still have power. The power to thwart me, the power to bury yourself. Is that what you wish, Sarah?”</p><p>“You wouldn’t weep for me, but would you sing?” she breathes, voice quiet as the wind through sweet sage. </p><p>A moment passes. “I would,” says the Goblin King. </p><p>Her eyes close again, her body loosening. Jareth seems to understand her acceptance, her acquiescence. </p><p>“Sleep now,” he commands, his voice soft. </p><p>She sleeps.</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p><br/>
***</p>
</div>The world tastes of sweat and ash. She tosses and turns, pain biting like fangs into her bones and bringing her to wakefulness before a cool touch soothes her brow and sends her back into oblivion. She seesaws between consciousness and unconsciousness, mind clouded with fever and pain. Her sight is dim, her body heavy.<p>She sees goblins she doesn’t know creeping in the shadows, cleaning silently, backs bent and snouts to the ground as they wash away dust and water and blood from the flagstones. She sees Hoggle bearing a wide, shallow basket of herbs, his fearful eyes staring down at her as he stammers and arranges the leaves into neat piles. She sees Sir Didymus sitting beside her telling her long lays whose words she can’t make out, just the pleasant lilting tone of his words. She even sees Ludo, hovering over her in the darkness of midnight, stroking her hair softly like her mother – her real mother – used to do when she was ill. </p><p>Most of all, though, she sees Jareth. He is ever there, wiping the sweat from her brow and crushing sweet-smelling herbs in a pestle and smearing salve over her mangled legs before wrapping them in white linen bandages. He puts goblets of water to her lips and turns her pillows so the cloth is cool against her hot skin. </p><p>He talks to her, she thinks, or perhaps he sings: low, slow songs with old melodies. The sound of his voice washes over her like laudanum, calming the pain in her body and the restlessness in her bones. </p><p>Mostly, she sleeps.</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p><br/>
***</p>
</div>She wakes slowly. The air is dry, arid as the desert with a hint of sage to it. She’s not in her bed – this mattress is far too soft, more like a pillow than a mattress. She opens her eyes and sees a vast room of stone hung with tapestries, its windows framed by silk curtains.<p>Outside, the sky is red. </p><p>Sarah sits up abruptly, <i>Toby</i> on her lips. </p><p>Then she remembers. The party, the drive, the water. </p><p>Jareth. </p><p>She looks up and, as though summoned by her thoughts, he’s there standing above her. His hair is extravagant as she remembers, silver-blond with thin braids ending in white feathers, his eyes framed by silver and royal purple. He looks pale and perfect, looks heart-achingly beautiful. It’s such that she feels her own mortality suddenly, in contrast to his magic, feels it like a cold weight pressing into her heart.  </p><p>“Congratulations,” he says dryly. “Your fever has broken.” </p><p>She stares up at him for several seconds, then looks around. The room is large and round; a turret room. There are four large windows with glass – inaccurate for the time period, her medieval history professor’s voice whispers in the back of her mind – and settled among the tapestries several large beautiful pieces of furniture: a wardrobe, a dressing table with silver-edged mirror, a long low table with a porcelain washbowl and carafe. She’s in a four-poster bed with a dark blue canopy over it, silver stars stitched into the rich navy fabric. The bedclothes are simple white, the linen wrinkleless as though it had just been ironed. It has a clean smell to it, of soap and sun, no trace of feverish sweat staining it. </p><p>This is the Goblin King’s castle. He’s brought her back to the Underground. To the seat of his power. And yet, she can feel his restraint, his caution. She is an unknown quantity, and despite her mortality she still has power here. </p><p>Sarah shifts in the bed, feels her legs warm and whole. She whips off the cover and sees that she’s still in her party outfit – overlarge shirt hanging off one shoulder, leather coat, and jeans. The jeans have been ripped away cleanly just above the knee, turning them summarily into shorts. Her legs are pale and undamaged, no sign of injury or scar. </p><p>It makes her head spin. What’s really happening? What is real, and what’s Jareth playing with her dreams? She looks up at him. “What happened?”</p><p>“You don’t remember?”</p><p>“I remember a lot. I’m just not sure which parts of it are real.”</p><p>He smiles, although not with kindness. “Can’t trust your memory?”</p><p>“It’s you I can’t trust,” she replies. “Where is this?”</p><p>“My castle, of course. You summoned me.”</p><p>“I did?” she frowns. She remembers the sharp blade of panic slipping between her ribs, remembers what she had thought would be her final wishes. For her parents, for Toby…</p><p>Then she remembers. The last, traitorous wish. <i>Jareth. </i></p><p>“I was dying,” she replies, defensively. </p><p>His mouth tightens, eyes hardening. “Yes, Sarah. Drive home the fact that you want nothing to do with me unless on your deathbed.”</p><p>She draws back, hands tightening over the linen covers. “I meant – it wasn’t deliberate – I never…” she trails off, realising that none of her excuses in any way improve the situation. “It was my dreams. They don’t let me forget it. Forget you.”</p><p>“Is that such a cross to bear?”</p><p>“You tried to turn my brother into a goblin.” Years ago, it would have been said with anger, real venom. Even recently, she still felt outraged about their past meeting. But now? Without knowing what prize Jareth is playing for she feels on unsteady footing. </p><p>“After you wished him away. Tit for tat, I think.” </p><p>She doesn’t like being here in the bed before him, stretched out and helpless. She pulls her legs out and stands, intending to press back into his space. Instead her head spins, a cold feeling rushing through her body as darkness clouds over her eyes. </p><p>She feels Jareth catch her and lift her back into the bed. As she lies with her head on the pillow sparks flash in her vision, slowly fading as her proper sight returns and the cold emptiness dissipates. “What…”</p><p>“You’re still weak from the healing. You’ve been here for four days, Sarah, while my magics and herbs knit your flesh and bones back together again. It was hard work, and in part it drew on your own power. You will need to rest and regain your strength.”</p><p>“So I’m here at your mercy,” she says, refusing to let weakness show in her face. Her hands are trembling. </p><p>“I’m not an ogre, Sarah. I have no agenda to force on you.”</p><p>“No, you’re a goblin. And goblins have a terrible time restraining their appetites.”</p><p>His eyes are flinty, his voice cold. “I see you can still be cruel.”</p><p>For some reason his words cut into her. She doesn’t know any way to react to him other than with antagonism; he spent ten hours trying to trick her into abandoning her little brother, and then trying to manipulate her into feeling sorry for him when she bested him. He is not innocent, and he is not kind. </p><p>And yet, hurting him hurts her too. Feels as though she has grasped a knife not by the handle but by the blade, the steel cutting into her. She’s overwhelmed, her memories swimming in her head, the fact of her return to the Underground burning like a fire beneath her. Her throat tightens, her eyes suddenly liquid; she looks away. She will not cry in front of him. </p><p>“Why did you bring me here?” she asks, voice guttural, her eyes on the far wall and her back to him. “You don’t owe me anything. Definitely not goodwill.”</p><p>“Worthy opponents are rare, and rare things are precious. How could I allow something precious to be lost in such a useless way?” </p><p>She flushes a little at the idea that Jareth considers her to be precious. But then, he also drugged her and threw her into an oubliette. <i>He is not kind</i>, she reminds herself. </p><p>“I see,” she says. And then, trying not to sound grudging, “Thank you.”</p><p>He laughs, the sound like a trickling brook. “How resentful you sound. But I will accept your thanks all the same. I’ve told you before: I am generous, Sarah.”</p><p>Sarah turns back, her tears blinked away. She speaks quietly, not trusting her voice. “What happened? Aboveground? My memories are all twisted.”</p><p>“Mm, the result of alcohol and shock and a head wound. The goblins did struggle getting the blood out of the linen. And of course your trousers were ruined –”</p><p>“Jareth,” she says, and he stops. Looks at her, his eyes sharp. “What happened?”</p><p>He considers her for several heartbeats, the silence stretching uncomfortably between them. Then, without a word, he pulls a crystal ball out of thin air. He holds it in his palm and blows on it, and like a bubble it rides the currents to her. She reaches out tenderly and catches it in both hands. It’s warm as skin and makes her palms tingle. She looks down into it. </p><p>It shows the events of the night of the party as seen from above. She watches herself drinking and dancing – with Eric, with her girl friends, with other boys. Watches Eric in the corner consume the one beer he promised, and then switch to vodka. She makes a soft sound of betrayal. </p><p>Then there’s the stroke of one o’clock and the two of them staggering out of the party into the street to find the car. She can see as she hadn’t at the time that she’s not the only one staggering. </p><p>The silver Taurus drives through the empty streets at erratic speeds, and she realises that what she had taken for dizziness was the car drifting from side to side. Then they’re running down towards the lake. Sarah feels fear press heavily against her chest, wants to shout, to throw the crystal, to stop watching. But she doesn’t. </p><p>She sees the oncoming car just as they approach the fishing pier. Sees the Taurus drift into the opposite lane, then pull sharply back – too sharp, cutting over the unpaved shoulder and down into the lake going at least 50. The car ploughs into the water and continues rolling forward, red taillights glowing like monstrous eyes. The passenger side of the car is jammed up against the pier, the hood and body crumpled like paper. </p><p>Eric struggles out of the car as the water is waist deep, the car still rolling further into the lake, water gushing in through the open door. He makes for the shore, collapsing onto the shale and coughing. The car they passed has stopped and the driver runs to him, shaking him and pointing at the water. </p><p>Eric says nothing, eyes wide and body trembling, and the Taurus slips beneath the lake’s surface. Slowly, the bubbles stop rising. </p><p>She drops the crystal. It hits the coverlet and rolls off onto the floor, where it bounces. But she’s no longer watching it. Because at last, the tears have come.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Stew</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Her tears are hot and salty, thick in the back of her throat. For several minutes they leave her unable to speak. Finally though she finds her right words. “He left me to die,” she whispers between choking breaths. “He left me to <i>die!</i>”</p>
<p>“Certainly not a knight in white armour,” agrees Jareth, “But he was young and foolish and I’m sure he didn’t <i>mean</i> it.”</p>
<p>Sarah hears something mocking in his tone, something ironic. She looks up at him, vision blurred. “I never made those excuses,” she replies, defensively. The tears are drying up now; she wipes at them with her sleeve and sniffs loudly. </p>
<p>Jareth gives her a look of pure skepticism and she reddens. Then, as always, anger comes to her rescue. <i>Don’t get sad, get angry</i>, Mom had told her long ago, and the words have stuck with her. She won’t snivel and weep in front of the Goblin King. </p>
<p>“Alright, but I got Toby back, didn’t I? I didn’t abandon him.”</p>
<p>“Yes, and as I recall you made it clear you wanted nothing further to do with me. And yet, here we are.” His smile is razor-edged. </p>
<p>“You’ve been sending me dreams all these years. You’re the one who hasn’t let me forget.”</p>
<p>He shakes his head, feathers tumbling over his grey-clad shoulder. She can see the humour in his eyes. “I have sent you nothing. I have never once given you anything you didn’t ask for.”</p>
<p>“You were there! I could feel it!” She sits up and her head starts to spin. Her elbow slips out from under her and she folds back into the mattress, weariness surging in her. “I could feel it,” she mumbles. </p>
<p>Jareth’s voice is soft, hypnotic as rainfall. “I have given you nothing but your life, Sarah. Do with it as you will.”</p>
<p>She tries to lift her head, can’t. She’s exhausted. “And what do you get out of it?” she asks. </p>
<p>She falls asleep before she hears the answer.</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p><br/>***</p>
</div>Cold. Water pressing in on her, draining the heat from her skin. It rises higher and higher, over her waist, breasts, throat. She can hear it pouring in, watches the darkness as it comes for her.<p>So cold. She tilts her head up, straining to get above it, but it’s everywhere, it’s smothering her, enveloping her. <i>Drowning</i> her. She tries to struggle against it but her body won’t move, only her head obeys her and as she strains her chin upwards the water pours over the edge of her jaw and into her mouth. </p>
<p>It’s thick, salty, and rolls down her throat as she screams…</p>
<p><i>Sarah! Sarah!</i> “Sarah!”</p>
<p>She startles awake, tangled in the linen bedclothes so tight she’s trapped. There’s a pleasant, dusty smell in the room – lavender, she thinks, or something close – and syrupy late-afternoon sun is pouring in through the windows. </p>
<p>And, beside her bed, Hoggle is looking down at her, his blue eyes wide. </p>
<p>“Hoggle!” She pulls herself halfway up, pillow catching the small of her back when she sags against the wall behind the bed. The stone is rough and cold against her skin even through her coat, and she shivers at the memory of water encompassing her. </p>
<p>“You were dreaming. One of <i>his</i> dreams?”</p>
<p>She frowns, fingers slipping over her throat and finding her skin soft and warm – not frozen by lake water. “He said he doesn’t send me dreams,” she says slowly. </p>
<p>“Aye, and you believe him, do you? Very keen on dreams, he is.”</p>
<p>“Yes, but… they’ve always been my dreams. He’s been there, in them, but they were mine. And this one was too.” <i>And he wasn’t in it</i>, she thinks. There had been no warm touch against her shoulder, no rescue this time. </p>
<p>“Well, you’d know best,” he says begrudgingly. She notices now that he’s got a basket with him with soft silver-green leaves in it. It’s the source of the clean, pleasant smell. </p>
<p>She nods at it. “What’s that?”</p>
<p>“Oh, it’s Sweetlace. Grows in the woods behind the castle, if you know where to look. It takes away the memory of pain. His Majesty sent me to get it.”</p>
<p>Sarah swallows. “You mean it makes you forget what’s happened?” she asks carefully. She knows Hoggle still remembers the peach. </p>
<p>His head shoots up, arms withdrawing. “Naw! Naw. I’d cut off my hand before I brought you another gift like that from him. It doesn’t muck about with your mind; it just takes away the weight that pain brings.”</p>
<p>Her gathering anger deflates, skin tingling briefly as it burns off. “Oh. Good.” And then: “You’ve been here while I was sick. With herbs. Your herbs?”</p>
<p>Hoggle shuffles his feet, embarrassed. The leathery skin of his cheeks is the colour of a fall apple, and just as shiny. “I grew ‘em,” he admits. “<i>He</i> sent for them. Knows what he’s about when it comes to leeching, I’ll admit.”</p>
<p>She has a sudden image of Jareth in an ancient library flipping through dusty tomes by the light filtering in through a stained-glass window. Her mind paints in the details: long dark wood shelves that disappear into the dimness, cold flagstone floors, blue-and-purple glass painting a cornflower and cognac-coloured pattern on the butter-yellow pages. The text wouldn’t be in English but the language of the Labyrinth, whatever that is; it would be something sharp, she thinks, with fierce hooks and fletches like Norse ruins. Jareth, for all his glitter and glamour, is fundamentally hard underneath. Iron in velvet. </p>
<p>“Sarah?”</p>
<p>She blinks, mental image dispelled. Hoggle is watching her. </p>
<p>“Why’d you come back? Why’d you call him, of all people? He’s strong and clever – too clever by half – but he’s crooked as a corkscrew. You can’t trust ‘im.”</p>
<p>“What a charming epithet,” drawls a low voice. Hoggle stiffens and drops his basket; Sarah looks up. Jareth appears from out of the shadows beside the wardrobe, his clothes today cream and white, his boots and gloves soft sable. </p>
<p>“Your Majesty!” Hoggle shuffles around, his face a rictus. </p>
<p>“Yes, Hodgepodge, me. Or perhaps you’ve forgotten who rules this castle?”</p>
<p>“Perhaps <i>you’ve</i> forgotten whose room this is,” retorts Sarah. “Or do you regularly enter without knocking?”</p>
<p>Jareth cants his head slightly to the side, the late-afternoon sunlight light caressing the silvering above his eyes. “Do you stake ownership to my realm?”</p>
<p>The idea sends a shiver down her spine. Jareth has acknowledged her power, but she still doesn’t know its boundaries. She doesn’t want to end up in a land-grab through some stupid wordplay. “No. But surely you don’t begrudge a guest their privacy. Or am I not a guest?”</p>
<p>“A guest.” He seems to be tasting the word. “You are certainly older than my usual guests. But no less demanding.”</p>
<p>She flushes; he smiles. </p>
<p>“Let us say you are an emissary – from Aboveground. A position which demands respect.”</p>
<p>“And courtesy?” she asks. </p>
<p>His eyes harden. “Careful Sarah. I have bowed to your wishes, but I am master here. Do not seek to disenfranchise me.” His tone is light but holds a warning. </p>
<p>“I haven’t asked for a single thing,” she protests.</p>
<p>“Except that I deem this room to be your kingdom, that I seek permission before entering my own dominion.”</p>
<p>She considers telling the Goblin King that he’s in danger of sounding petulant, but refrains. “Warn me, then, before you appear; that’s enough.” It seems like a fair concession; she knows how much Jareth likes making unadvertised entrances. Theatricality is his middle name. </p>
<p>He strokes his thumb over his chin for a moment before nodding. “Very well. Now: are you going to answer Houndstooth here?”</p>
<p>“Hoggle,” says Hoggle, sulkily. </p>
<p>Jareth waves a dismissive hand, his mismatched eyes on Sarah. </p>
<p>“You want to know why I called you?” she asks. She’s had a few minutes to get over the shock of Jareth’s appearance and come up with a reply. “Then tell me why you answered. I didn’t wish away any child. I didn’t even speak.”</p>
<p>His smile is like honey on rhubarb, like sugar and citrus peel; both sweet and bitter. “In days gone by, my name was often spoken Aboveground, and my attention was everywhere and nowhere. Your so-called modern world with its radios and its televisions has replaced me in the memories of all but a very few. When you call me, Sarah, for better or worse I am forced to listen. The wish was in your heart; in this case, that was enough. Given that I saved your life, I recommend you don’t doubt it.” His eyes rake down her recumbent form, over her dirty tangled hair and her sweaty shirt and her wrinkled jeans. “You have yet to say thank you, I might add.”</p>
<p>She’s never once given him an inch, on the theory that he would immediately thieve a mile. That had been easy with Toby – he had been the antagonist, the one threatening her baby brother. This time? This time all he did was save her from drowning and nurse her back to health. So:</p>
<p>“Thank you,” she says stiffly. </p>
<p>He laughs, the sound airy and melodious, his finery shifting and catching the sunlight. “How grudging you sound. Like a child made to kiss her grandmother’s cheek.”</p>
<p>“I certainly won’t be kissing yours,” she retorts. </p>
<p>For just an instant she sees surprise flit over his face, quick as a heartbeat. He finds his equilibrium without any sign of a stumble though. “Oh? Or perhaps that’s why you called me? A long-buried desire? I have much to offer, Sarah.”</p>
<p>She sighs. “I don’t want anything. I didn’t call you to grant my wish, I just… my entire life was spent believing in magic and fairy tales. And then I found myself in one – and while everything was different, it was still <i>real</i>. I never forgot that; I probably never will. For better or worse. I didn’t even mean to call you. I just <i>remembered</i>, at what I thought was the end of my life. That’s all. Satisfied?”</p>
<p>Of course, it’s not really all. It’s not the Labyrinth, or the goblins, or her friends that she thinks of late at night when the memories of magic come to her with a feeling of starlight on her skin. It’s him. It’s him that walks her dreams, him that haunts her from the untamed and undisciplined corners of her mind. </p>
<p>But he doesn’t need to know that. </p>
<p>“Or would you rather I had just died?” she asks. </p>
<p>His face goes stony now, only his eyes still living, still bright. He says nothing, and she takes it for agreement. After all, she had destroyed his castle and scattered or turned his subjects – and she had been petty and heartless about it. Still he looks at her, appraising, speechless, the weight of his gaze immense, crushing. </p>
<p>“Your eyes can be so cruel,” she whispers. </p>
<p>And then he blinks, and the weight is gone. “I’m not in the habit of regretting my actions,” he says, turning away. “Don’t make me start now.” And, without further repartee, he walks straight through the wall and is gone. </p>
<p>Sarah sinks down into the bed, her head falling onto the pillow. Hoggle sidles over and pulls the blankets straight, tucking her in. “He oughtn’t to’ve come when you’re still recovering,” he says. “You need rest, Sarah.”</p>
<p>“Mm,” she agrees, curling onto her side in the soft mattress and staring at the bare stone wall he disappeared through. She can’t forget the brightness of his eyes.</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p><br/>***</p>
</div>That evening she’s woken by a pretty little dwarf maid dressed in a frilled dress with a snow-white apron over it. She brings a tray of stew that smells delicious, with slices of cheese on another plate and cubes of fruit on another. She clatters it setting it down on the table beside the bed, which wakes Sarah.<p>The instant the dwarf sees Sarah rise she gives a squeak and shrinks down, burying her face in her apron. “Sorry miss!” she pipes out.</p>
<p>Sarah pulls herself up, head spinning briefly. “And who are you?” she asks kindly, as the dwarf continues to cower before her. “It’s okay, I’m not angry.”</p>
<p>“No miss, you’re <i>human</i>.” She says it as though it was synonymous with <i>a cannibal</i>. She does peek through her fingers though. Her eyes are the same sky-blue as Hoggle’s, and there’s something in the curve of her nose…</p>
<p>“Are you related to Hoggle?” </p>
<p>The maid jumps, then nods shyly. “His niece, miss. Hanchen.”</p>
<p>“Well that’s great Hanchen; nice to meet you. Hoggle’s been wonderful to me, you know. And all the stories you’ve heard about humans aren’t true. I just want to get better and go home. I’m not going to hurt you, or anyone else here.”</p>
<p>Hanchen’s little fingers bury themselves in the pristine fabric of her apron. “Then you don’t stuff dwarves and put them on display? Or make necklaces out of goblin teeth? Or boil mermaids for their tears?” </p>
<p>Sarah smiles politely. “It’s been a very long time since people Aboveground believed in magic, Hanchen. We don’t do any of those things.” </p>
<p>“His Majesty said you would make potholders out of my ears if I displease you…”</p>
<p>“His Majesty was joking,” says Sarah, firmly. Hanchen looks doubtful. “I promise I won’t hurt you. Or anyone. Now; what have you brought me?” she asks brightly, to change the topic. </p>
<p>Hanchen creeps back closer, releasing her apron and pointing. “Mutton stew with mushrooms and tatters. Cheese. Fruit from the castle orchard.”</p>
<p>Sarah looks at it suspiciously. “The castle has an orchard?”</p>
<p>“Yes miss, Hoggle minds it. And the kitchen garden, and the herb patch.”</p>
<p>“And was Jareth – His Majesty – involved in selecting this fruit?”</p>
<p>“He just said to bring you something simple, miss. For an invalid, like. I picked it myself.”</p>
<p>Sarah looks closely at the cubed fruit. There’s what looks like apples and pears – no peaches. And no worms. But is it safe?</p>
<p>Her stomach clenches, reminding her that she hasn’t eaten in recent memory. Did Jareth magic away her hunger? She doesn’t know. </p>
<p>Sarah reaches out to take the tray and Hanchen rushes forward, picking it up and placing it carefully on her lap. There’s cutlery: heavy, silver stuff that should be accompanying pristine porcelain and elegant crystal. She picks up a piece of meat with her fork, the mutton so stewed that it’s nearly melting, and carefully nibbles at it.</p>
<p>No fog of magic, no silk gown and soft music. No dreams. Just the hearty, rich taste of meat cooked with marrow. She finishes the bite and slowly sets in to eat her meal.</p>
<p>Hanchen stands by watchfully, smiling nervously as Sarah forks down the stew. “It’s good, Hanchen, thank you.”</p>
<p>She eats the cheese, too. After hovering her fork over the crisp, moist cubes for several moments, she leaves the fruit. </p>
<p>“Is there anything else I can get you, miss?”</p>
<p>Sarah shifts, her dirty clothes uncomfortable against her body. “A bath? And something else to wear? I don’t know – are there clothes that would fit me here?”</p>
<p>“I can find something. His Majesty was clear that your wishes are to be filled.”</p>
<p>Sarah’s eyes narrow. “So now he’s roping in his subjects to grant wishes? For what price?”</p>
<p>“Price, miss?”</p>
<p>“You must know that Jareth doesn’t do anything out of kindness. There’s always a bargain.” </p>
<p>“I don’t make bargains, miss. I just do as I’m asked. I don’t want anything from you in return. I’ll have a bath prepared and find some clothes.” She scuttles across the room and out the door before Sarah can protest. </p>
<p>Sarah lies back and stares at the starry canopy overhead. It occurs to her that Jareth still hasn’t made it clear why he brought her here. If he felt obliged to answer her call, he could easily have taken her to a hospital, or even just the lakeside. But he brought her to his castle and cared for her personally. </p>
<p>What bargain is he trying to drive this time?</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Baths</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Sarah discovers while she waits that her watch has stopped, doubtless due to immersion in the lake. This time, there is no floating clock to haunt her steps and keep her on time, so she doesn’t have a very clear idea of how long it is before Hanchen returns. </p>
<p>The little dwarf pushes open the heavy oak door and dips a courtesy, before scuttling over to Sarah’s side. “The baths are ready, miss.”</p>
<p><i>Baths, plural?</i> Thinks Sarah. But she pushes back the covers and makes to stand. The dwarf maid squeaks. </p>
<p>“Oh no, miss! Miss can’t walk there – they’re in the bottom of the castle. Too far for you to walk.”</p>
<p>“I feel fine,” protests Sarah, who in fact feels just a little strange; a slight tingling in her body, a tiny tininess to her hearing. She stands and finds her legs like jelly under her; she quickly sits back down on the bed, ears ringing now. </p>
<p>“Not to worry, miss. His Majesty will be here shortly.”</p>
<p>Sarah’s eyes widen and she feels heat rising through her body, up her neck to pool in her face. “I’m definitely not taking a bath with <i>him</i> there!”</p>
<p>Laughter echoes through the room as a knock comes on the open door. Sarah looks to it and sees the tip of a black leather boot and a black glove. She wonders if this is how Little Red Riding Hood felt with the wolf at her door. </p>
<p>“I’d rather stay dirty than bathe with you,” Sarah calls. Jareth pushes the door open. His eyes are sly, his smile dangerous in its pretense of sweetness. A wolf indeed. </p>
<p>“I will take that as an invitation,” he murmurs, and glides in with his usual aching grace. “You are right to clean up – it’s certainly overdue.”</p>
<p>“Thanks a bunch,” replies Sarah dryly. Under his gaze she feels filthy, disgusting. She takes a breath, tries to banish that inadequacy. He has no power over her. </p>
<p>“Were it not for my concern for propriety I certainly would have seen to it myself. Another token of my generosity.”</p>
<p>“Yes, you’ve really been showering me with it. So much so that I can’t help but wonder: Why?”</p>
<p>Jareth’s smile is clean as old bones, stark as a dead tree against the sky. “Sarah, Sarah. You have seen my subjects. Scarcely a brain between the whole hairy lot of them. No appreciation for the finer things. Kindness, compassion, <i>generosity</i>; they’re all lost on them.”</p>
<p>“Yes, it must be terrible having to rein in your compassion,” replies Sarah. “What you really mean is that you don’t have anyone to show off to. All this power and no audience.”</p>
<p>“You enjoy twisting my words.” </p>
<p>“I’m <i>not</i> enjoying myself! In the past few days I nearly drowned, had my legs shredded, haven’t eaten or showered, and have been trapped here with you! And on top of it now I can’t even take a bath on my own.” Her voice trembles, with anger rather than weakness. Her hands are fisted, her back straight. “I don’t like playing by your rules,” she finishes, standing and taking a step forward. </p>
<p>The flagstones are cold and rough under her bare feet. Away from the bed she feels the openness of the tower room, the emptiness of the space around her. Apart from her bed and table the rest of the furniture is distant, and the wood-slat ceiling is high above. </p>
<p>She can hear the dim roar of the sea in her ears – an angry, unruly sea – and her body feels cold and far away. It answers her commands but she feels as though she’s floating above herself, pulling the strings like a puppeteer. She looks down and sees her legs, the jeans ripped away above her knees, the skin pale and perfect. Somehow it frightens her, that ivory perfection, the slim curve of her calves, the strong line of her shin. Looking at it she can’t help but see something else.</p>
<p>Blood. Bone. Gore and horror, pain and panic. A rush of ice water pumps through her veins and she hears a low, anguished sound. It’s coming from her own throat. </p>
<p>She takes another step, stumbles, and falls full-forward into Jareth’s arms. The Goblin King catches her dispassionately and holds her upright, his fingers digging into her arms, his chest solid beneath her forehead. </p>
<p>He smells of sunlight and cut straw and just a hint of spice. Wholesomeness and hunger. </p>
<p>Sarah looks up dizzily. This close she can see the way his skin shines in the candlelight, the dark glimmer of his mismatched eyes. She doesn’t see her own face reflected in them but something else – shadows, stones. She can’t make sense of it. </p>
<p>“What’s wrong with me?” she asks, her words thick on her tongue. </p>
<p>“Your magic is depleted. It will recover in time.” His voice is quiet but stern, no softness to it.</p>
<p>“I want to go home.” It’s just a whisper. The moment it’s out of her mouth she realises it’s true; she misses her bed, her friends, her Dad, Toby – even Karen. This is not her life. </p>
<p>“If you return now, you will never recover,” replies Jareth. “There is no magic Aboveground to kindle yours. You will either live on as a shade of your former self, or simply fade away.”</p>
<p>She can’t help but think of the Little Mermaid – the <i>real</i> Little Mermaid. The one where the mermaid turns to seafoam, betrayed by her heart and her love. </p>
<p>Has her own heart betrayed her by wishing for the Goblin King? “Why did you bring me here?” It’s not really a question. Just the voice of despair, of fear. </p>
<p>“Oh Sarah. Chin up. You will heal – and before very long at all. I am no monster; I play fair.”</p>
<p>Even in her cloud of desolation, that catches her attention. She snorts quietly. </p>
<p>“If, once you are healed, you wish to return Aboveground, I will not thwart you.”</p>
<p>“There’s no if.”</p>
<p>“As you say,” replies Jareth politely, as though humouring her. She makes to push away, her feet a little steadier under her now, and he sweeps her up into his arms. She shrieks; he smirks. “But now – to the baths.”</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p><br/>***</p>
</div>Briefly, Sarah imagines him carrying her screaming through the halls and chambers of the castle like some ancient manor lord revelling in his droit.<p>In fact, he takes one single step just as she raises her fists to smack his chest, and they are suddenly in a darkened room smelling of orange blossom, the air thick with hot humidity. There’s the silvery trickle of running water coming from all around them; it echoes off into the distance. </p>
<p>There are no windows here, and the tall candelabra standing beside pillars with tall white candles dripping wax down onto the floor below produce only a soft glow. The ceiling is low and vaulted; the chambers stretch out into dim twilight. Sarah can’t see the end of them; like the Escher room, this place seems infinite. </p>
<p>Set into the floor like Roman baths are numerous pools. In some the water is crystal clear, in others it’s rich blue or green or lavender; steam is rising off them up into the darkness. The floor is tile rather than stone, mosaic patterns set around the edge of the pools. </p>
<p>Beside Jareth are stone beds, perhaps for oiling or massage. On one of them sits a large wicker basket with linens in it, and beside it is stacked several big fluffy towels. Jareth sets her down beside them. </p>
<p>In the distance comes the sound of wooden clogs on tile, a horse-like clopping. “I believe your maid is on her way,” he says. “I will take my leave. You know how to call me,” he says, and taking a step back disappears into thin air.</p>
<p>Sarah stares. How to call him? <i>I wish the Goblin King would come and take me away, right now!</i> She thinks. Surely not. </p>
<p>“I hate word games,” she says, as Hanchen trots into view. </p>
<p>“Miss is ready for her bath?” she asks as she comes to a stop in front of Sarah. </p>
<p>“I suppose so.”  </p>
<p>Hanchen helps her take off her soiled clothes, folding them carefully and putting them on the next stone bed. It’s close to a pale blue pool and as soon as she’s ready Sarah rises and steps hurriedly down in the water, afraid of her next dizzy spell. </p>
<p>In the water there’s a raised stone seat all along the edge and she sits down; the water comes up to her collarbone. It’s hot but not too hot; just perfect, really, and slightly slick with oil. It smells delicious, fragrant and sweet without being cloying. She sighs happily, her body relaxing. Later she can wash and scrub; right now, she just wants to enjoy the sensation of warmth and comfort. </p>
<p>Hanchen brings over a small metal basin filled with water. “I can wash your hair, miss,” she says, and scoops Sarah’s trailing hair up out of the water and into the basin, presumably filled with clean non-oiled water. She scrubs in something that smells fresh and sharp like tea tree oil, her clever fingers massaging Sarah’s scalp as she washes it. </p>
<p>“Did you really prepare all this just for me?” she asks, eyes closed, as Hanchen works. </p>
<p>“The baths are usually just for His Majesty, miss. They’re always ready; you never know when the goblins are going to track in mud or slime or stench, and His Majesty hates being dirty.”</p>
<p>“Yes, he’s very clean, isn’t he?” Spotless always from his shiny boots to his intricate lace, even in the filthy sewers, even in the dusty Labyrinth. “I suppose the goblins must do his laundry.”</p>
<p>Hanchen makes a quiet noise that it takes Sarah a moment to place as laughter. “Oh no, miss. They’re not good for much more than feeding chickens and making a ruckus. His Majesty has others to care for him.”</p>
<p>“People like you and Hoggle,” says Sarah slowly.</p>
<p>“And others. There aren’t many of us, but there are enough. We’ve come here from the wilds, or other Courts.”</p>
<p>“Why?” She hears the confusion in her own voice, wonders if it’s insulting. But Hanchen is washing her hair out now without pause. </p>
<p>“Well miss, His Majesty’s Court isn’t like others. Most of the Fae rule over the lesser races like slaves, or animals. They’re cold and cruel as iron, and they kill us as they please. His Majesty offers a Court where we can find protection. He angers quickly, and his punishments suit his amusements, but they’re not cruel. He’s never once killed a subject – not even the dullest of the goblins.”</p>
<p>“He threatened to make your ears into potholders!” says Sarah.</p>
<p>“No miss, he said you would,” replies Hanchen softly. “There’s always the Bog, of course, but the smell <i>does</i> wear off. Or work running the Cleaners, or spraying the faeries. But that’s usually the worst of it.”</p>
<p>“He steals human children and turns them into goblins,” she protests.</p>
<p>“He takes any who are wished to him – by themselves or others. But I’ve never seen a human become a goblin, miss. And those who are unwanted find safety here, from whatever it is they’ve been wished away from.”</p>
<p>“Why does he do it?”</p>
<p>“Don’t know, miss. You’d have to ask His Majesty.”</p>
<p>“I can’t believe it’s out of kindness.”</p>
<p>“Does it matter? We’re happy here – happy enough. It’s His Majesty who protects us. I don’t much care why, miss.” She finishes washing Sarah’s hair. “There, much better. All silky and clean. I’ll dry it, shall I, and then braid it?”</p>
<p>“Dry it?” says Sarah curiously. There’s no electricity here, no hairdryers. She turns to watch Hanchen go over to the wall where there’s a large chest. She opens it to show rows of glass vials and stone pots. Without hesitation she picks out one and comes over. Inside is a green powder. She picks up a pinch of it and sprinkles it on Sarah’s hair. </p>
<p>“Hey, what –” she stops, feeling her hair against her shoulders. It’s dry and soft, wetness vanished instantly. </p>
<p>“Drying powder,” the dwarf says. She puts the pot down and takes a seat behind Sarah where she starts to braid. “You’re a lovely contrast to His Majesty, miss. All dark where he’s white.”</p>
<p>“And kind where he’s cruel?” she says, in a joking tone. </p>
<p>“You’ve been nothing but sunshine to me, miss,” agrees Hanchen, but Sarah senses a <i>but</i>.</p>
<p>“But?” she asks.</p>
<p>“You’re iron-hard to him.”</p>
<p>“He stole my brother!”</p>
<p>“That was a long time ago though, wasn’t it? And for His Majesty to have taken a babe, you must have called him.”</p>
<p>“He didn’t play fair.”</p>
<p>“Did you, miss?”</p>
<p>Sarah blinks, knuckles digging into her thighs just above her knees. “What do you mean?”</p>
<p>“You were supposed to complete the Labyrinth to save the child, miss. Just you. But you couldn’t have done it without others – Hoggle, and the knight and the stone summoner.”</p>
<p>“You know a lot about this.”</p>
<p>“Hoggle used to talk about you a lot, miss. So did others; it’s very rare for someone to best the Labyrinth. Rare enough for them even to try. You were more than a seven day wonder.”</p>
<p>She raises her head and feels the tension of Hanchen working on the braids. She relaxes, staring into the dark distance. “And Jareth? Did he talk about me?”</p>
<p>“I wouldn’t know that, miss. His Majesty doesn’t confide in me. Or in anyone. We’re not his equal. Maybe that’s why he brought you back, miss. To have someone to talk to.”</p>
<p>Sarah opens her mouth to reply, then closes it. <i>My will is as strong as yours and my kingdom as great</i>. She had made herself his equal, here in the Underground where words have power. And so what? Has Jareth grown tired of impressing his subjects and is now turning to someone harder to impress? Is that what he wants? To have the satisfaction of turning her head – she, who defeated him?</p>
<p>She can’t believe it could be something as simple as Hanchen suggests. Jareth is not the kind of man to seek out an equal. Wowing amazed supplicants is more his line. </p>
<p>“I think I’m ready to get out now,” she says, turning away from this line of thought.</p>
<p>“Yes, miss. Just a quick dip in the cleansing pool then, and you’ll be ready to go.” She ties off her braids, then scrambles to her feet and steadies Sarah as she gets out. She leads her to a small, circular pool with clear, scentless water. There are loofahs and cloths here, and Sarah washes off the scented oils and the remains of the lake water and mud that clings to her skin. When she’s done she feels raw, deliciously clean. </p>
<p>Hanchen helps her out and over to the stone bed where she dries Sarah down with thick towels. “There you are, miss. Much better. I’ve brought some clothes for you to wear. Just something simple, like.” She reaches into the basket and pulls out a dark green linen dress with a simple A-line cut and embroidered leaves on the bodice. “I thought something you could wear to bed or out would be best, miss.”</p>
<p>“This is perfect, thank you Hanchen. Where did it come from?”</p>
<p>“His Majesty entertains sometimes, miss. The guests need clothes, or bring their own and forget them.”</p>
<p>Sarah remembers the ball, the room full of dancing Fae, laughing and smirking – at her. This could have belonged to one of them. If that had been real, anyway. </p>
<p>Still, needs must. She’s not putting on her old dirty clothes, and she’s definitely not going naked. “Okay,” she says. Hanchen gives her some small clothes, then helps her to pull the dress on. It fits like a glove, smooth and cool against her skin. The sleeves lace up from the elbow down and are slightly belled, and the neckline is cut low but not scandalously; the skirt falls all the way to the floor. Sarah feels infinitely more mature in it than she had in the puffy silk ball gown. </p>
<p>“Oo, you look lovely, miss.”</p>
<p>“Thanks.” Really, she’d be more comfortable in a loose oversized t-shirt or a tank and shorts, but there’s no way she’ll find those here. And the idea of confronting the Goblin King while showing that much skin… She blushes. “What now?”</p>
<p>“Hadn’t you better be calling for His Majesty now? To go back to your chambers, miss?”</p>
<p>Ah, yes. The moment karma bites her in the ass. Time to purposely summon the Goblin King. And the truth is, she has no idea how.</p>
<p>“Couldn’t you call him?”</p>
<p>Hanchen squeaks. “Me, summon His Majesty? Oh no miss!” Her blue eyes are wide with fear, and Sarah thinks that however whimsical Jareth’s punishments, they’re still effective. </p>
<p>Sarah sighs, sitting on the stone bed. Her butt’s starting to go numb. Time to give it the old college try. “Goblin King,” she calls, and then, “Jareth,” then “Jareth? <i>Jareth!</i>”</p>
<p>There’s no sign of a tall, ridiculously handsome, terribly self-interested man. Sarah feels like she’s calling a reticent dog. </p>
<p>“You have to <i>mean</i> it, miss,” squeaks Hanchen, beside her. </p>
<p>Sarah looks down at her. “Mean it?”</p>
<p>“He won’t come if he’s not wanted.”</p>
<p>“It’s never stopped him in my experience,” she mutters. Then, fingers tightening into fists, she clothes her eyes and lets out her breath. Focuses. Tries to remember the years of staring out the window looking for a barn owl, all the times she wrote his name in the margins of her notes, the boys she had kissed because they had something – just some tiny, tiny thing – in them that reminded her of mismatched eyes and wry lips. </p>
<p>“Jareth,” she says, calmly, eyes closed. </p>
<p>“That wasn’t so hard, was it?” says the Goblin King’s voice from behind her.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Dreamer</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Sarah counts to three in her head before standing and turning slowly, the hem of her dress slipping over her bare feet, toes protruding. She’s still warm from the bath and this time she feels no chill, just a little dizziness. </p>
<p>Jareth’s eyes are dancing, likely with mischief, she thinks. “A wardrobe choice far more fitting for you,” he says, eyes running down her body. The dress fits like a second skin, showing off her curves and the lightly-freckled skin beneath her collarbones; his attention makes her deeply aware of it. </p>
<p>“It’s not so convenient for modern life,” she replies awkwardly. </p>
<p>“You’ve never learned to take a compliment, I see.”</p>
<p>She blushes but doesn’t look away. “Not from you. Everything you say has some double meaning.”</p>
<p>The Goblin King’s lips twitch with amusement. “Really,” he drawls softly.</p>
<p>“Really,” she replies, imitating his tone. “So you’ll forgive me for not accepting a compliment that doubles as a reminder that you don’t approve of my own choice in clothes.” She spreads her arms, gesture encompassing the dress. “Is what you really mean you don’t care for human clothing? You want me dressed as one of your Fae guests? Do you wish I was one of them?”</p>
<p>Jareth’s smile widens like a sail catching a gust, and then he laughs, a loud sonorous sound in the echoing baths. “My dear Sarah,” he says at last, laughter still rich in his tone. “How could you think so?”</p>
<p>“Hanchen told me about your parties, your guests. That this is some Fae lady’s cast off,” she says, bluffing just a little. </p>
<p>“Odd as it may seem, I don’t stock the latest in blue jeans and cotton print shirts. Forgive me for my lack of foresight,” he says, bowing ironically. “But you may as well know, since you seem to attribute some importance to it, that relations between myself and the other Fae Courts are chilly at best. My guests come out of obligation, not anticipation.” </p>
<p>“Stole one too many babies?” she suggests.  </p>
<p>His smile is dry and reveals nothing. “Something like that,” he says. Before she can probe deeper he steps closer, holding out his hand. “And now, I believe it’s time for you to rest.”</p>
<p>Slowly, cautiously, she puts her hand in his. He rests his other hand on her waist and, as though stepping into a waltz, guides her forward. The motion takes them smoothly, safely into her turret room. He walks her to the bed and she sits down, her feet cold on the flagstones. </p>
<p>In her absence the heavy blue velvet drapes have been drawn over the windows, and a fire has been lit in the immense fireplace; it pops and crackles merrily. The room feels smaller but also more welcoming. </p>
<p>“And now,” he says, “it’s late. I take my leave of you.”</p>
<p>She blinks, wondering if she hit a nerve with her questions about his Fae guests. He leaves by the door this time, shutting it behind him, and she stares after him for a minute almost expecting him to return. </p>
<p>But no, he’s gone. </p>
<p>Carefully, heavily, she rolls into bed and pulls the covers over herself. She’s asleep before her head hits the pillow.</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p><br/>***</p>
</div>Her dreams are dark and confused. Smoky red skies and cold water; damp stone and the smell of green wood burning. She doesn’t remember anything specific from them, but she wakes with a deep-seated longing for home.<p>She lies dozing in the bed until Hanchen slips in to open the drapes and let in the lazy morning sun. “Would you like breakfast, miss?” she asks, bringing in a new carafe of water and putting it down on the washing table beside the basin. </p>
<p>“Hanchen, how long have I been here?”</p>
<p>The dwarf maid turns to her and tilts her head to the side. “This is the fifth day, miss.”</p>
<p>She knew it had been days, but somehow it hadn’t meant much to her. But now alarm skyrockets in her, her heart pounding against her ribs and her skin suddenly damp with sweat. “My parents – Toby – has anyone told them I’m okay?”</p>
<p>Hanchen looks at her blankly. “Don’t know, miss.”</p>
<p>Sarah can guess the answer. There are no phones to Aboveground here, and passageways like her mirror are few and far between. It would take Jareth delivering that message in person, and she can’t imagine him making the effort. </p>
<p>And besides, what could he say? <i>Sarah’s fine, she’s just regaining her magical powers in the Underground but not to worry, she’ll be back soon</i>? Sarah makes a quiet noise of panic. </p>
<p>“Miss?”</p>
<p>“I need to speak to Jareth. It’s important. Can you –” she cuts herself off at Hanchen’s look of alarm. Right. Servants don’t summon their master. “Never mind. I’ll call him.”</p>
<p>Somehow it’s easier this time, knowing that she did it before. She clears her mind and focuses on the Goblin King, on his aura of confidence and opulence, on the smooth sound of his voice and the flash of his eyes. </p>
<p>“Jareth,” she says. </p>
<p>And, a moment later, he’s there. He steps cleanly into the room through the wall, a silent footstep transitioning into soft taps as his boots hit flagstone. He’s wearing a deep merlot-coloured shirt with darker plum-coloured pants, his eyes shades of snow and wisteria. </p>
<p>“Have a care, Sarah,” he says, tone slightly cross, mouth tight. “I don’t give you blanket permission to summon me as you will.”</p>
<p>She ignores him, sitting straight up with her hands fisted in the blankets. “Jareth! My family – did you tell them I’m okay?”</p>
<p>His expression is flat, cold. “I am a king, not a messenger service. Out of the goodness of my heart I saved your life; I didn’t agree to see to your every whim.”</p>
<p>“So they think I’m dead?” Her throat is tight, her chest constricted. It’s hard to breath, each gasp raspy. It’s been <i>five days</i>, and they think she died in the lake?</p>
<p>“I have no idea what they think. One imagines by now the absence of your corpse will have been discovered,” remarks Jareth offhandedly. </p>
<p>“I have to tell them I’m okay! Oh God, they must be frantic!”</p>
<p>Jareth looks at her coolly, unimpressed. “And what would you say? What excuse would you give for your absence that they would believe, and accept? Much better to return when you’re able and make amends then.”</p>
<p>“You don’t understand how worried they must be! Please – take me back Aboveground. I can call them, I can tell them something – anything!” She twists her hands, her skin hot with panic. </p>
<p>“It will be another several days before you can safely return Aboveground. They’ve waited this long; they can wait a few more days.”</p>
<p>She stares at him, outraged. “How can you be so cruel?”</p>
<p>His smile is cold. “I protect what is mine. I disregard what is not. Tell me Sarah – which are you? You are alive by my kindness; will you bow to my will? Or would you have me treat you as an outsider and revoke your welcome in my kingdom? Is this the choice you ask me to make?”</p>
<p>Sarah draws back and takes a breath. Tries to think. Jareth is just as twisty as the labyrinth, just as hard to read. “It was your choice to answer my call,” she says slowly. “And it was your decision to keep me here as – as an emissary, not a subject or a prisoner. It’s you who’s been making exceptions.”</p>
<p>“And I grow <i>tired</i> of it,” says the Goblin King heavily. “As always, I run myself ragged to do your bidding, and receive no thanks for it. I save your life, you demand more. I protect your interests, you call me cruel.”</p>
<p>“So what?” she demands, heatedly. “I should just sit here like a good little princess rescued by the king and bask in his glory? Is that what you want? Did you bring me here to become your cheering squad, just like the rest of the goblins and your subjects already are? Hanchen says you don’t confide in anyone. How could you, when you won’t see anyone as you equal?” </p>
<p>Jareth’s lips curl upwards. “So now you ask to be not only an emissary, but a queen. Is that it, Sarah? You would set yourself up on high as my equal?”</p>
<p>She twists her hands into her hair, frustrated, lost. “<i>No!</i> Why do you have to twist everything I say? I don’t want anything from you other than to tell Dad and Karen that I’m not dead. I don’t want your kingdom, I don’t even want your hospitality. If I’m so much trouble let me go live with Hoggle, or Sir Didymus. Just… don’t punish my parents because you’re angry with me.” Her fingers slip free of her hair, hands falling into her lap. The fury fades from her voice, leaving it soft.</p>
<p>“I’m always the villain, aren’t I, sweet Sarah,” purrs Jareth. He crosses slowly and reaches out with a coal-black glove to tilt her chin up so that she’s meeting his eyes. “In your mind, you ask for so little. But I tell you: it is too much. You will remain here, in my castle, until you are healed. And then, if you will it, I will send you home. That, and nothing more, do I offer. Do not ask for more.”</p>
<p>Her lip trembles, and she can’t tell if it’s in anger or despair. “Fine,” she spits, staring up at him. “But when I’ve gone home I don’t ever want to see you again. Clear?”</p>
<p>Jareth’s smile is icy. “Crystal,” he says. And, taking a step backwards, he fades into nothingness.</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p><br/>***</p>
</div>Hanchen comes in a little while later with breakfast, but she has no appetite for the eggs and toast and jam the dwarf has brought. Sarah sits staring down at the tray while Hanchen cleans the ashes out of the grate from last night’s fire.<p>“He’s so… so … <i>ugh!</i>” she groans, hands fisted over her fork and knife. For Hanchen’s sake she spread a bit of the thick purple jam on the bread and cut into an egg, the thick yolk bleeding out all over the plate. But she can hardly bring herself to try a bite of it. </p>
<p>“It is hard, when two people are very stubborn,” agrees Hanchen.</p>
<p>“Stubborn? <i>He’s</i> the stubborn one,” grits out Sarah.</p>
<p>“Yes, miss,” agrees Hanchen diplomatically. Sarah blinks at her. </p>
<p>“All I wanted was to send a note to my parents. Is that really so much to ask?”</p>
<p>Hanchen sits up, pausing from her work at raking out the grate and looking over at Sarah. “Well miss. It’s a bit more than that, isn’t it? You summoned His Majesty – which he’s never keen on at the best of times – and then you needed quite a lot of looking after. And then, when he’d done that for you, instead of thanking him you asked him to treat you as an equal – and him a king. And now you ask him to run messages for you, like a servant.”</p>
<p>“I didn’t ask him to deliver it – he could have sent someone.”</p>
<p>“Like a goblin, miss? Or Hoggle? Or myself? To the Aboveground? I don’t know much of humans, miss, but I don’t think they would take a visit from a goblin well.” She shakes her head firmly. </p>
<p>“No… I suppose not…” Sarah lays down the cutlery and pinches the bridge of her nose. “It’s just… he never <i>explains</i> anything. He just <i>reacts</i>. We can never just have a conversation.”</p>
<p>Hanchen is silent. Sarah narrows her eyes at her. “What?”</p>
<p>“Well… I think he might say the same of you, miss. You’re very quick to assume he’s got your worst interests at heart.”</p>
<p>“Because he <i>does</i>,” replies Sarah immediately. </p>
<p>“He came when you summoned him. He brought you here. He healed you. He even gave you the privileges of a foreign diplomat when you’re really just a human woman. Is any of that so bad?”</p>
<p>Sarah sighs and looks down at the eggy plate before her. “It’s like it’s all a game with him, Hanchen. A game he’s determined to win.”</p>
<p>“Well of course, miss. He’s the Goblin King. It’s his job to play for keeps in all he undertakes.”</p>
<p>She slowly breaths out, lets her anger and frustration seep out of her with the air she exhales. Now isn’t the time to lose her temper – again. She needs to understand her situation better than she does. “How is it that a Fae is the king of the goblins?”</p>
<p>“It’s complicated, miss, and there’s a lot of His Majesty’s history that I don’t know. But it’s this realm that gives him his title, not his species. And he is master of the kingdom because he was the one to master it when no one else could, or would.”</p>
<p>“He told me he doesn’t get along with the other Courts,” muses Sarah.</p>
<p>“No, miss. He is a king in his own right and the master of his Court, so they can’t ignore him. But they spite him at every chance they get.”</p>
<p>“Why?”</p>
<p>“I don’t know why it started, miss. But now, it’s because he takes in those who are wished away, no matter who they are. Human or Fae, dwarf or gnome. He doesn’t care about prior oaths of fealty so long as those who come here swear themselves to him. And he doesn’t care about blood. You’re not the first human he’s brought here, although you’re the first he’s gone out of his way for.”</p>
<p>“I see.” Sarah picks up her fork and knife slowly and starts to take small bites of the egg. Hanchen turns back to the fireplace and goes back to scraping it out. </p>
<p>Sarah eats while her mind turns.</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p><br/>***</p>
</div>Sir Didymus and Ludo come to visit her later in the morning and stay to lunch, a boisterous, messy affair between the four of them (Ambrosius has a bowl of scraps on the floor). Seeing her friends cheers Sarah up and helps her to at least temporarily forget her frustrations and rage. Jareth makes no appearance, not even to mock her for her choice of companions, and they leave early in the afternoon so she can nap.<p>She wakes when the sun is growing low in the red sky and gets out of bed, crossing the room clumsily to look out the window. She’s high up, in perhaps the highest tower of the Castle Beyond the Labyrinth, and looking down she can see the castle’s crenulations and gates, its roofs and courtyards. And, beyond, the twisting walls of the Labyrinth that seem to fade into infinity. This is Jareth’s kingdom, one of twisted stone and tricks. The two seem made for each other. </p>
<p>The window ledge is nearly a foot deep and she sits perched on it, staring out at the world below. Hanchen had implied that the kingdom had existed before Jareth, and she wonders what he was like before he came here. Whether he was always made of twists and trickery, or whether the Labyrinth sowed it in him and nurtured it. From what she knows of Fae they match their lands, but she can’t remember reading whether it was the land that moulded the Fae, or vice versa. </p>
<p>In a way, she’s afraid to know. The more she learns of Jareth, the more unsure she becomes of her own position. In Hanchen’s eyes at least he’s a fair and at least semi-benevolent ruler who grants sanctuary to those in danger. To the dwarf, Sarah’s arguments ring false, sound ignorant and uncaring. </p>
<p>It’s always been so clear to her that Jareth is in the wrong, that by definition he is the enemy.</p>
<p>And yet, she’s never been able to forget him. </p>
<p>And yet, he was the one her mind turned to in its last moments. </p>
<p>And yet, she wishes they could get along. </p>
<p>God, she’s such a dreamer.</p>
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